Violent Frightening Disaster
by The Corpse Maker
Summary: A story about an organization of volunteers, a schism, a sugar bowl, an obscure writer, deadly driving lessons, unpleasant lemon scones, hideous bow ties, secret messages and lots, lots of fires. If you are J.F., read every ten words and use the coffee maker to decode. If you aren't J.F., don't read any word at all.
1. To B

**To Beatrice, **

**If they had left me the choice between you, justice or the message hidden inside that fortune cookie, I would have chosen you any time. **

**There is no more justice, the message is lost, rats have eaten the cookie and you are gone forever. **


	2. Prologue

Allow me to talk about the expression : ''You can't judge a book by its cover''.

The primary meaning of the said expression is of course that you can't rely on appearances to understand or explain something, or someone.

I have had the misfortune to find myself into some situations where that sentence requires an altogether different interpretation, which can be summarized as follows : ''This is a hollow book. The sugar pot is hidden inside.''.

The following story will undoubtedly repulse any sane reader and thus, in order to preserve that precious sanity, will never be published. So, if you happen to read this, and in order to be fair, I have to apologize for the lack of cover as well as to describe the cover I would have selected. Imagine a lovely drawn, colorful cover. Imagine smiles and happy faces, lovers and stylized red hearts.

And now, remember the meaning of the expression ''You can't judge a book by its cover'', which in that case, doesn't mean that you may find a valuable piece of information hidden inside a sugar pot, itself hidden inside this story.


	3. One : Very Fast Drive

**London - Three years after the schism**

As the waiter of Verini's Finest Diner, disguised as a taximan, was driving me through the crowded streets of the City, I was trying to focus on the newspaper. There was a vital need that I completed the crossword on the last page before we reached destination. The word _vital_ here meaning ''life-saving'' in the most literal way possible. There was also a vital need that my chauffeur reached our destination as soon as possible, thus sacrificing that other life-saving, though less vital need of driving safely.

Please try to imagine the situation. It could only be qualified as

''Perilous'', I wrote in the 5-across cells of the crossword, as an answer to the definition : ''Incredibly risky''.

The next definition was : ''If they forget how to do it, children have what they need at their fingertips.''.  
The car brutally turned left as I was trying to negotiate an inner treaty of peace with my headache.

I read the sentence once more, and wrote the answer in the cells : ''Count''.

I knew what came next. I wrote ''Olaf'' in the 7-across cells.

The message before my eyes was : "Situation Perilous. Count Olaf Lighting Fires. Find Beatrice.".

It was then that the taxi hit another car.


	4. Interlude : Ventus Facis Damnum

**Ventus Facis Damnum**

(Le** Vent Façonne **mon** Désespoir****)**

**A Boat. The Atlantic Ocean. Seven years after the schism. **

**B**eatrice. Beatrice.

The water around me reminds me of the fire surrounding you, that night.

The ocean reminds me of the salty drops of water running on your cheeks made pure light by the flames licking your house.

Your tears remind me of my tears, that same night, when I realized that you wouldn't survive.

So many salty tears because of a sugar pot.

The marine wind in my hair reminds me of the wind feeding the fire in which you disappeared.

The false mustache on my lips reminds me of the lips I longed to kiss.

The eye on my ankle reminds me of your gaze.

And the steward just reminded me of the fact that I really need to leave the ship before they release the lions.

_**L.S.**_


	5. Two : Various Fedoras for Disguise

**A sober-looking office - Three years after the Schism **

Mr. Poe's hand was trembling over the paperwork, as he was considering the signature at the bottom of the letter at the top of the pile of documents. He swallowed his saliva in a nervous gulp and lit a match.

Once the letter had been entirely consumed by fire, as too many houses around him had already been, he sat at his desk and took hold of a collection of recent photographs of a man wearing different types of hats in different positions. In most of the photographs, the man turned his back to the camera.

In the last of them, however, the face was visible under the gray fedora.

Mr. Poe attached the photograph in question to the file, took a sober-looking pen and wrote on the first page :

_**L. Snicket **_

_**Decease Confirmed**_

* * *

Mr. Poe had just written the most important lie of his whole life.


	6. Interlude : Verde Foresta e Disperazione

**A forest. Seven years after the schism.**

The main problem with promises is that, if you sincerely make them, you can't help but feel bad when you break them.  
Not doing what you say is not always good, but it's alright when compared to the act of breaking a promise.  
I have had a life full of intrigues and perils, and most of the time both of them at the same time. This had left me facing plenty of situations in which promises were broken. Either by me, by an infamous unibrowed character, or by lots of altogether different people, some of them I would never be able to see again.  
And, reflecting upon it all inside a shed located at the top of a tree at the foot of which two lions were waiting for their prey to make a move, I realized that promises could very well be linked to all of the biggest problems I had experienced in my past.

I silently promised myself not to make any promise anymore, then thought about what I had just done and guessed (and it turned out later that I had guessed accurately) that my problems would not be over soon.  
At that moment, I heard a noise sounding like branches collapsing under the weight of a building.  
As I passed my head through the window, I saw that the noise had been produced by branches collapsing under the weight of a shed.  
Then, the shed collapsed, and myself with it.

Ten minutes later, I was finding shelter into an abandoned cabin, quickly unfolding a piece of paper * as I heard claws trying to tear the door apart.  
On the unfolded piece of paper were written those words :

_Be careful. Stay discreet. _  
_We promise that we will get you out of that situation soon._

I read the last sentence twice, sighed, then folded the piece of paper, put it in my pocket, got hold of the harpoon leaning against the wooden wall and opened the door.

* * *

* Which I had found, as expected, hidden behind a plank inside the cabin.


	7. Three : Volunteers Facing Dilemmas

**Date unknown**

* * *

Whether in a deserted train station, desperately waiting for Beatrice to show up, a perforated percolator under my arm, or in a dark cave where I was selecting the wine that would be served with the pasta puttanesca, or trapped inside an elevator, or even in a house in flames, I have often reflected upon this: Is a dilemma better than no choice at all?

Dilemma here is a word which means ''Very difficult choice between two different things''. For example, choosing between throwing a sugar pot in the cold water of a river or keeping it hidden in your coat can be a dilemma, especially if you have a gun pointed at your skull by a woman in heels nearly as high as her self-esteem when facing that dilemma.

Dilemmas are especially hard because you have no escape, no third path. But is one path better?

Is having no choice at all better?

Which of the two situations is the easiest one?

* * *

As Mr Poe considered the letter before his eyes, he was probably wondering which of the two situations was the easiest one. He was probably also wondering if he would ever be happy again. Surely, he was also wondering how he could protect the Beaudelaire orphans and keep on helping L. Snicket. And he was definitely wondering if he should reply to Count Olaf's letter or not.

But sometimes, choosing doesn't really matter because the outcome will be the same whatever the choice.

Whatever choice Mr Poe made, he wouldn't be able to protect either the Beaudelaire orphans or L. Snicket. Whatever choice he made, he would feel unhappy. Whatever choice he made, he would spend much of his time obsessively coughing in a handkerchief as a physical manifestation of his inner doubts, shame and guilt.

* * *

Whatever choice I made, I would lose Beatrice. Of course, I didn't know that as I was leaving the taxi in a hurry and running to find another vehicle. Of course not.

There was still hope, at the time.


End file.
